A few years back Pat and I were in a place called Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Beautiful area, ringed by the Grand Tetons, was so appealing that I didn’t know where to go first. The big Tetons or just stay in town and see the sights. There was enough to see there to keep a pair of Okies occupied for a few days for sure. But then my wife reminded me that again, I had failed to get us a place to spend the night and we were likely going to sleep in the car—or someplace like that. As usual, I told her not to worry about a thing. “I got this.”

She looked at me skeptically as I went in several Hotels seeking a room. Just like Joseph and Mary, the Inn Keepers all gave me the same answer—No room in the Inn. I finally went in this big plush looking Hotel and inquired. They too were full up. I must confess that we had been on the road all day and looked pretty much like the Goads on “The Grapes of Wrath.” The manager then said, “we just got a cancellation—the Presidential Suite—but you probably wouldn’t want it,” he snarled at me and my vagabond wife. “How much?” I asked having already decided that I would show this tin horn a thing or two, even if it cost a thousand bucks a night. He announced a price that startled me—it was so reasonable. I said, “I’ll take it.” I don’t smoke but if I’d had a big old Roi Tan Cigar I’d struck a match on his no smoking sign and lit it up right there.

Once settled in I noted the windows were open. Didn’t see any air-conditioning. Just a big fi replace in the living room. Pat and I decided to go out and eat and when we got back we went right on to bed. It was cooling off and I put the window down at the head of our bed. As I drifted off to sleep I wondered out loud how many presidents had ever slept in this bed. I woke up at 3 am. Man was I cold. Pat helped me as I slammed all the windows down. We got back in bed and tried to get warm. No dice. Too cold. I went over and read the directions on the gas fi red fireplace. I lit it and turned it up as high as it would go, put on my jacket and went back to bed. It frosted that night, as it always does—every night—the desk clerk told me. It was like 14 degrees F.

We drove around this scenic ski town all morning shivering and gawking at the sights and beauty of Jackson Hole. I was supposed to pick up my son Ron and his two kids at the airport that afternoon which I did. My 14-year-old granddaughter mentioned how cool it was and said, “Look Papa, snowflakes!” Those are from a Cottonwood Tree, I explained. “Why doesn’t my phone work,” asked Braden. “How long do we have to be here?” asked the 14-year-old. I remained quiet.

We drove north up into Yellowstone and the three adults were wowed by the spectacular scenery, beautiful mountains and the snow that was still on the ground. There was too much too see and not enough time to take in all the spewing geysers, lakes and wildlife and anyway, much of that was missed by the two teens who plaintively looked at their non-working cell phones and couldn’t have been sadder if they had just buried their mama. But we plugged on.

After a few days we finished up on Yellowstone and decided to drive something called “The Beartooth Highway.” This took us up to Montana and the highest altitudes we had encountered this trip. There is one ski lodge at the 12,000-foot level that stays open year ‘round. We stopped and watched them working on the ski slopes, making snow and working on it. I didn’t know there was any place like this in America and we spent quite a bit of time up there playing in the snow. By now, our teens had (in despondency) laid their cell phones down. And we headed south. To Allen. Where it was hot. We had a great time up there. I hope you are enjoying this mild winter weather we are having as much as I am.

Be sure and go to Church Sunday.

Wayne Bullard,

DPh

waynebullard@sbcglobal.net